And a Merry  Christmas to You, Too

By Tom Brennan

QUESTION:

Why is it that people only write happy stories about Christmas, or at least nearly always? Christmas is a good time of year for Christians and should be a celebration of Christ rather than a consumer seizure involving spending and collecting in the name of Jesus. Whoever it was that first asked, "Why do we get presents on Jesus' birthday," hit the nail right on the head.

The stories that follow are not happy Christmas tales, so if that is what you need I would suggest looking at Hallmark. These may not be happy but they are true; I know because I was there. Truth is probably more important than joy especially at Christmas.

ONE:

During my first semester of college someone slipped me some LSD in a coke. This happened in October but because of my reaction to the drug, I do not remember that Christmas. I was still tripping from that single dose. (Editor's note: watch for this story in upcoming issues.)

TWO:

It was my second year in college and close to Christmas. It was December 12th, which happened to be a Tuesday as I recall. I was living off campus in a room in a rooming house a block from campus. I had slept in, as I was pretty poor about going to classes. Maybe the L.S.D. I'd gotten my first semester had set the tone for the rest of my college life, as this was a problem for me through grad school.

I don't remember if there was a reason for my sleeping in that morning other than the fact that I wanted to but I do remember a knock on my door about 10:00 that morning. I thought that if I covered my head and ignored it the banging on my door would stop. No such luck. It continued so I got up and answered it.

To my surprise, there stood Stephanie. Steph had one of those smells that could turn me on during a geometry test...and was really saying something! I immediately knew her by her smell but also immediately knew that something was dreadfully wrong.

She had read science fiction stories to me and we had been cozy for some of that, but had never really gotten friendly until recently. We were still at that slightly awkward stage that all new couples go through but I could tell that those rules had been somehow suspended or altered that day.

Steph came in and sat on my bed and pulled me down beside her. She didn't do anything except turn me so that I was facing her and placed her hands on my shoulders.

"You just got a phone call," she said. This was not unusual since I didn't have a phone. People who needed to get in touch with me would call the Methodist Student Center, which was a quarter block away, and someone would come get me. We had a very close group at that time and everyone did things like that for everyone else in the group and didn't think twice about it.

"Who wants me at this god-awful hour of the morning," I asked as I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes.

"Everyone knows to leave me alone in the morning unless there's a really good reason for it."

Stephanie took her hands off my shoulders and quietly said, "Your mom just called. Your dad died this morning and she wants you to come home. I'll drive you to the bus station and whatever else that you need to do. I'm so sorry, Tom."

My dad had been sick for several years so this was actually not a surprise to me but I still hadn't expected it. I know that I got home but I don't remember the trip or anything much about the next couple days. I just remember going to be with my mom and how much that Christmas sucked.

There was still one other piece of Christmas cheer for my mom and me that year. When I had been home for a day or two there was a knock on the door. My mom was still pretty upset so I went to answer the door. Because my dad and I hadn't gotten along for several years I think things were much harder on my mom than me.

When I opened the door a man said to me, "I have a delivery for Mrs. Brennan. Is this the right address?" I told him that I thought he might have the wrong address and asked how he was spelling the name. He said, "B-r- e-n-n-a-n". I told him that it was the correct address and that I'd sign for the package if he'd show me where to sign. I didn't have a signature guide with me but the edge of my military id card would work just fine for a straight edge when signing.

"Sorry, Mrs. Brennan has to sign for this one herself," he said a bit triumphantly I thought, but maybe I'm just thinking that after the fact. My mother got up and came to the door to sign. When she got to the door I heard her gasp and begin to cry all over again. What on earth was going on?

"What is this doing at my house? It belongs at the cemetery," she said.

"This is the address that we've got and this is where it goes. Just sign the papers or I'll have to take it and you'll be charged for it anyway."

"What's wrong mom," I asked. I was really getting concerned by this point.

"They've brought your father's grave marker to the apartment."

I knew that the military was often incompetent but this was unbelievable! My dad was to be buried in the military in Shreveport, Louisiana and some fool in the Veterans Administration, or whomever was handling this, had brought us a Christmas present worthy of a Stephen King book. Besides, military insurance or something, was paying for this, so how could this clown charge us for it if he took it away with him?

In the true helpful spirit of Christmas, the guy who brought this lump to us said, "This weighs about eighty pounds so it will probably take both of you to carry it into the house. Regulations do not permit me to do it for you."

"I will not sign the papers and you will remove this stone now or I will call the Department of the Army," my mother said and went back to the kitchen.

"Look, I don't know who you are but my dad just died. I assume that since you have a driver's license, and can read, that you have some intelligence although it is apparently well hidden just now. Let me suggest that you take this thing and send it to the cemetery where it belongs. Both my mom and I are rather upset just now and I am in no mood to mess with your stupidity. And, if you haven't gotten that thing off of the property in ten seconds, I will call the police and file charges against you for harassment and whatever else they charge ghouls with," I told our visitor.

He started to argue with me and I just slammed the door. I heard him gathering his stuff and shortly heard him drive away. When I checked, the grave marker was gone.

There is one other piece of information that makes this stranger than it would be in itself. It was 8:00 at night when that guy brought us the marker. Who in their right mind would deliver a grave marker to the widow's house in the first place and why would anyone do it at night? Only the military could answer such a question and I think I don't really want to know.

To cap that Christmas, the marker had to be remade because of errors in the engraving.

THREE:

My third year in college also held a special Christmas present in store for me. I was attending Stephen F. Austin State University in Nacogdoches, Texas, which was then, and is now, a small university. I believe that about ten thousand enrollment was about right for the size of the student body, both then and now.

During Christmas break, the town pretty much folds up and goes away. The students leave, and town folk go to nearby cities like Houston and Dallas to visit relatives and get out of the back woods. This makes for a very quiet little town in which you can go pretty much anywhere so long as you don't do anything illegal, or anything that some authority figure with a badge thinks is or ought to be illegal.

That particular Christmas Eve I didn't have anything to do. I wasn't with family and was spending Christmas by myself. I decided late that night (it must have actually been about 2:00 a.m. Christmas morning) to take a walk. I got my cane and struck out for campus, which was a block from where I lived.

When I got to the campus, I decided to walk through it and go downtown to the Christmas tree that had been put up that year. There is a single north-south road that goes through most of the campus and this was how I intended to cross it.

I was walking down the sidewalk minding my own business when a car pulled up beside me. Because nobody was out and because of the sound of the overstressed alternator on the car, I was quite certain that it was a university police car. I was correct.

"Sir, how much have you had to drink tonight?"

"I haven't had a thing to drink," was my reply.

"Well then what are you doing out at this time of night with no flashlight and on Christmas Eve? You should be home. I'm going to have to ask you to walk along that line down the center of the street," was this guy's response.

On his behalf, I must say that even though there was an Orientation and Mobility department on campus, he might have had no idea what a long white cane was for and that blind people couldn't see painted lines in order to follow them. Of course, being a campus cop probably made this more likely to be the case. Ok, the way to do this was by using street camber. I had learned about that in Orientation and Mobility training. Just stay on the high part in the middle of the street and I'd be fine. The idea that a cop had me walking down the middle of a street didn't even register with me until later at the police station.

I took my trusty cane and walked into the middle of the street and began to walk. I had gotten ten or fifteen feet when the cop said, "You'll have to come in to the station with me." This guy was obviously no Orientation and Mobility expert and apparently wasn't too far above a "room temperature" I.Q., either.

Ok, now I was going to be arrested? I asked him if I was under arrest and he said that I wasn't unless I resisted coming in with him but I would have to be checked for alcohol level in my blood or some such. At that time, breathalyzers weren't very common. Even given that situation, I was having difficulty understanding the difference between "being under arrest" and having to "come to the station" with this guy.

The officer took me to the nice warm campus police station. He stayed behind me and sort of pushed me along if I wasn't going in the right direction. I was torn between being amused, and really angry about this. Being an undergrad, I didn't know what this might do to my school standing and didn't know the laws concerning this. Back then (in the mid '70s) there was no ADA (American Disabilities Act) so I was largely on my own. I was a poor student and couldn't afford a lawyer even if I had wanted one.

When I got to the station, another cop was there. He questioned me about being out at night and what I'd been drinking. "Look if I want to be out at night I have that right. Since you obviously don't know it, I'll tell you that blind people have difficulty following painted lines and tend to have just a bit of veer when they walk in normal situations. Let's either arrest me and get me a lawyer or let me go and you guys go play another game somewhere else with some other sucker," I finally yelled.

This was probably a mistake and certainly didn't show the proper respect for these people but I couldn't have cared less. Today I'd be on the phone to the ACLU, or some such agency, so fast they wouldn't know what hit them. But then I really didn't know what to do.

I just knew that I'd watched Longstreet, and that guy was blind and could handle all this kind of stuff. He never got accused of being drunk for not walking straight. But then again, he had a dog guide. Now it seemed that I was going to have a cop guide.

The cops talked a little and griped me out for my disrespect but eventually let me go. They didn't even bring me back to where I'd been which was about a half mile away on the other side of campus. I just went home and crashed. It seemed that a little time to myself in the out of doors wasn't in the cards that Christmas.

AND TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT:

The above short essays are not traditional holiday stories. They lack Christmas cheer and will not make anyone's Christmas any better. I decided to write this because this past Christmas I heard people, on several occasions, talking about how bad Christmas was and that nobody had had anything but good Christmases before 1986 when the Challenger blew up.

I fail to see the connection but also disagree with the statement. I have had many great Christmases but if you never experience anything bad you cannot know what good is all about.

Perhaps Christ knew this better than any of us.

Tom Brennan, CCC-A/SLP, RHD
Web page: http://titan.sfasu.edu/~g_brennantg/sonicpage.html
Web master http://titan.sfasu.edu/~f_freemanfj/speechscience.html
Web master http://titan.sfasu.edu/~f_freemanfj/fluency.html